


Yurochka

by snugglebunn



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:50:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8602498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snugglebunn/pseuds/snugglebunn
Summary: Everything he did, he did for Viktor. A single word of praise was all he skated for, a nod of acknowledgment was all he craved, Viktor was all Yuri Plisetsky wanted.An AU in which Viktor returns to Russia.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thank you so much for taking the time to check out this fan fiction. This particular chapter was written late at night, so forgive it's crappiness ^w^ I know some may have a problem with the age difference between Yurio and Viktor, so rest assured I'll keep it appropriate between the two, if anything will happen, Yurio will be older. That being said, please enjoy!

Viktor Nikiforov... What was he to Yuri? A fellow skater? A role-model? A friend? No, all of those words were too simple, too one dimensional. Viktor wasn't simply a person to Yuri, Viktor was part of his life, everything he did, he did for Viktor. A single word of praise was all he skated for, a nod of acknowledgment was all he craved, Viktor was all Yuri Plisetsky wanted.

Which was why finding out that Viktor had gone to Japan had stricken the young Russian teen harder than anything else, it hurt more than the wound of any knife, like a dull throb coursing along his veins. He had looked up to Viktor his whole life, the elder man had promised to choreograph a program for Yuri, Yuri was going to win with that program... He was going to make Viktor proud. His plans were shattered now, broken into pieces. But they were big pieces, with a bit of work, he could pick them up and put them back together. He could fix this.

Yakov warned him against it, or that's a euphemism, he threatened Yuri with harsh and annoyed words. About how this would set him back on training, how he would return alone, how Viktor would have to grow out of whatever faze this was. But Yuri didn't listen, his mind was clouded, his ticket was booked, he was going to Japan.

Viktor had taken the year off from skating. He had taken it off to coach. The thought would've made the blond teenager laugh in disgust if it didn't bring a throb to his heart. Jealousy, anger, hurt... Too many emotions to store themselves inside of him. He had gone all the way to Japan in search of that skater who had came dead last at the Grand Prix competition. He was an embarrassment, a loser, and somehow, he had also managed to capture Viktor's attention. Viktor who had always seemed so unattainable. A proud figure, somebody who was so superior to everybody else in an almost godly fashion, was lending himself out to a failure.

He had forgotten about Yuri, left him for another... Yuuri Katsuki. The fact that Yuri shared a name with him was an embarrassment. Yuuri was fat, ugly, talentless, a loser, while Yuri was beautiful, graceful, a prodigy, he won. And he would get Viktor back, he would get his program and he would proceed to prove himself as one of the best skaters out there.

But before all this happened, he first needed to get to Japan.

With a popped hood and an expression that seemed to harshly portray his dislike for the world, he boarded a plane, shoving past a few slow people and getting to his seat, which happened to be right next to an elder lady who held a small book in her hands. She looked nice enough, but Yuri was in no mood to chat, elder or not, so the minute he sat down, he placed his earphones in and turned away. If she said anything, it went unheard by the young male. Soon enough, his eyes closed over and the darkness of unconsciousness took over.

_'Good job, Yuri.' A word of congratulations, something that Yuri strived to hear. The young boy, at an age where he should still be playing with toys and running from girls, skated over to the side of the ice rink, where two taller figures were standing._

_Even as a young boy, his bright green eyes held a mature pride to them, and also a greed, a greed to be the best. He had just finished practicing a new program, and the adrenaline was still pumping through him. Though his chest was still rising and falling with near-exhaustion, he expression told it all, he had nailed it, it was perfect and he knew it. Yuri was a star, a prodigy, he was the one who was envied by some twice his age simply for his sheer amount of promise. Yuri looked up to nobody, except for his grandfather and... One of the men standing in front of him._

_Viktor Nikiforov. A teenager at the time. Long silver hair was tied up neatly into a ponytail, though his lips were hidden from where he had been burying his nose into the high collar of his jacket, his ice-like eyes smiled._

_"You're getting better every day." Yakov spoke, continuing from his earlier praise. Yuri nodded, a disinterested action of thanks. His eyes were still trained onto Viktor. After a couple of moments, the beautiful teenager finally straightened up, freeing his mouth to speak. "Keep it up, Yuri. I expect to see you in many competitions soon." He spoke. Words simple, yet somehow more encouraging than anything Yakov could tell him. At the time, Viktor was untouchable, he was a senior skater that Yuri could only watch from the bleachers, being talked to like this was every young skater's dream. After all, even as a teenager Viktor was a legend. But before Yuri could reply, there was a sudden,_

Ding

His eyes shot open, shock glazing over the emerald orbs before they settled into a cautious calmness. Right, the airplane... The seatbelt sign had just gone up, they were about to land. Yuri was about to bring Viktor home.


	2. Chapter 2

Green clashed with blue, ocean-like tones creating opposing waves, crashing into each other, angry on Yuri's part, carelessly curious on Viktor's part. The tall Russian man could appear so dim-witted at times, pleasantly surprised towards every word ushered to him, holding passive aggressive tints beneath an airy tone. Yuri knew him well enough, despite the irritation that would pull dangerously at his stomach, he'd never strike Viktor and his ditzyness as dumb. 

Yuri had just arrived at the skating rink, after a series of events that might be called as an adventure by some, but a complete nightmare in the blond's own opinion. The one good thing had been finding a particularly fashionable tiger shirt in his search for Viktor, but having Yakov angrily calling him as well as finding himself to be lost in Japan only fueled Yuri's ever-present annoyance. Eventually a local had pointed him in the direction of an ice-rink, a pathetic thing really, Yuri couldn't believe that Viktor had purposely led himself there. Of course, knowing that the infamous Viktor Nikiforov was inside, a crowd had gathered, hoarding around the doors as moths would hoard around a light. The mass smelled of sweat and too many bodies were pushing and pressing against one-another, roughly moving through them, he headed towards the door, as entitled as a fifteen year old boy could get. Just then, a voice called after him.

_"you can't go in there!"_

"Huh?" The words were snapped, as he turned his head around, eyeing a trio of little girls who looked near identical safe from their hairstyles. Immediately they recoiled and a chorus of surprised gasps reached his ears, "Yuri Plisetsky?". His reputation had preceded him. Usually Yuri would've happily basked in the glorified light of admiration, but a far greater subject was calling for his attention. A man that was closer each step he took towards the door. Of course, he had happened to run into Yuuri during that moment, a long story short, it wasn't exactly a joyous nor warm greeting. 

He didn't understand, he couldn't understand. Why Viktor would come all the way for somebody as worthless as this? A pig. His cheeks were rounded in an irritatingly innocent manner, though he wasn't as plump as he had been in the video that caused this whole mess. His eyes were a warm brown, wide and child-like, they were too kind and calm for having been near assaulted by an angry fifteen-year old. He looked overly ordinary, boring, plain... Nothing worth Viktor's time.

So here they were, the two Yuris, watching Viktor, who was on the ice, having slowed his skating to a stop upon seeing the new arrival, after a moment of silence, his lips quirked upwards.

"Yuri you're here? I'm surprised Yakov let you come. What do you want?" There was nothing but casualness beneath his tone, if anything, perhaps boredom. He was completely unfazed that Yuri was here. Did he mean so little? It wasn't as though he were expecting much, but even a light gasp of surprise would've been welcomed. Of course, there was little that Yuri could do than give a snarl of annoyance, upper lip curling in hostility and evident anger.

"Judging from that look, I'm guessing I forgot some promise I made." Viktor continued, now giving a light chuckle, as though he found this all so amusing. Forgot? That promise had been Yuri's single goal in life, something he worked towards. But words from an idol could be treasured by a fan, and easily forgotten by the speaker themselves.

Yuri remembered it, he was sitting on a bench after a program, lazily listening as Yakov reprimanded him after having done an unscheduled quadruple Salchow. Honestly, the words were easily passing over the young boy's head, he had heard this all before, but he had landed it, hadn't he? A success should be welcomed no matter what. Then, there was another voice joining them. Lower, cooler and more composed than that of Yakov. "You should really praise him more." Yuri looked up, young eyes having widened upon seeing the familiar face of Viktor, though he looked more mature now... His hair had been cut off and he was dressed in a long, adult-like coat. The entire conversation shared between them was etched into Yuri's mind but the thing he remembered most was the promise. "Win the Junior World Championship and I'll coach you." Their hands had connected in a shake, even now, he could still feel the warmth of Viktor's warm glove over the cold skin of a young boy.

Viktor had came off the ice, issued an apology that could be labeled as one thing by Yuri, 'half-assed'. Yuri had demanded Viktor go back to Russia with him, and to that, he had expected an unwilling sigh, but then an agreement. Instead, he had been met by a stricken look on Yuuri's face and a troubled one on that of Viktor. A rare sight, his eyebrows had knit in thought and his blue eyes clouded over with a deep contemplation. Yuri couldn't believe it, he was serious about staying?

 A proposal was created. Yuri against Yuuri. Viktor would choreograph programs for them both and a competition would be held, whoever did best in his own personal opinion would earn him as a coach. The mere thought angered Yuri immensely. Of course he would win, but... This entire thing was taking too long. He needed to train, not be wasting time here. But if some lost hours meant bringing Viktor home with him, he would just need to put in all the more work when he reached Russia once more. 

"Wait..." Yuuri's hesitant voice crawled out sheepishly past lips damped from nervous chewing, her eyes were flickering from left to right frantically as though resting on a single object for too long were dangerous. "I don't know about this, I mean, I could lose Viktor as a coach, just as I've..." "Shut up Piggy." He was interrupted by the younger male, who popped his dark hood for good measure, glaring out from beneath it in a slightly savage antagonism. "Viktor's obviously coming home with me, so don't waste your breath. It would be so much easier if you just quit n-" He could see the effect my words had on him, the way his already pale skin seemed to go a shade lighter, how his eyes darkened with hurt, most likely memories of past failures, times where he'd let opportunities slip through his fingers as easily as this one was slipping. Of course, Yuri had no care for his personal sentiments, but Viktor had taken a turn to cut him off. "Yurochka." He hummed in a tone that made Yuri unsure whether he were reprimanding him or speaking playfully, a hand pressed against the smaller head and lightly rubbed, had he not been wearing a hood, blond locks would've been ruffled all around. Despite himself, Yuri turned his gaze downwards and let a very faint blush dust across his cheeks. Though the moment was short-lived for a second later, Viktor pulled back and laughed. "If you're so confident than I expect to see you nailing to entire program tomorrow, you won't even need as much practice as Yuri, right Yurio?"

 Yurio? Was that a horrid nickname? He was no longer merely Yurio, another thing that pig had stripped him of, his name. Just wait until the competition, Yuri will love to see how long he can cry. 


End file.
